Aloe
by Micayasha
Summary: In which Squall gets a sunburn. .:IRVINExSQUALL:.


"You got a sunburn."

Squall opened his eyes, blinking as a frowning Irvine came into focus above him.

"That's the problem with pale skin, I s'pose," Irvine went on, tossing his towel on a chair in the corner and working the elastic free of his ponytail. He slipped it onto his wrist and shook out his hair until it fell in damp, loose curls around his face. "Though it does look awful nice against those sheets."

Squall flushed as he sat up, hoping it was hidden by the burn on his cheeks. Irvine glanced at him sidelong and grinned lasciviously. "You shouldn't have left so early," he added. "Selphie and Quistis had a fight in the water, with Quisty on Zell's shoulders and Selphie on mine. It was vicious."

Squall shrugged, ignoring the twitch of jealousy he felt at the image of Selphie straddling Irvine's shoulders in nothing but a bikini. "Not interested," he said shortly. Irvine gave a long-suffering sigh and disappeared into the bathroom for a few moments. Squall could hear him rummaging in the medicine cabinet, and lay back down again, closing his eyes and wondering what his chances were that maybe Irvine would just let him rest.

Part of him envied the way Irvine didn't seem to be able to burn if his life depended on it. He could bathe himself in sunlight and he was still nothing but that same warm, golden-brown.

The cold touch of something wet on Squall's cheek startled him so much that he actually _squeaked_. When he opened his eyes, it was only to scowl at Irvine, who looked as though he was doing his very best not to laugh.

"It's aloe," Irvine said, still spreading the stuff over the sunburn with such gentle, tender hands that Squall started to squirm. He was also fairly sure, from what he could see, that Irvine was wearing nothing but his boxers, and as appealing as the image was, he was too tired for anything of that nature.

"I could just use a potion," he grumbled, and Irvine's eyes scolded him.

"You could," he agreed, "but that would be a waste. Besides, doesn't it feel good?"

It did, unexpectedly so – the cool gel strangely soothing on his over-heated skin. It stung a little as it sunk into the burn, but in the same way a potion did when it slid down his throat. It was a healing kind of sting. Squall had closed his eyes without even realizing it, and it wasn't until Irvine's fingers, sticky with aloe, started to trail over his jawline and down his throat that he noticed. Before he could rouse himself, Irvine leaned down and kissed him, the same sort of slow, soft touches he'd used on Squall's sunburned skin. The bed dipped as Irvine lay down next to him, and Squall thought about pointing out that Irvine was still wet from the ocean, but then he was being kissed again and couldn't be bothered. It wasn't his side of the bed, anyway. But Irvine had a way of making it seem as though nothing in the world was more important that his kisses, and Squall had yet to build up an immunity to those charms. There was a very small part of him that didn't want to.

Irvine relaxed back into the pillows, pulling the blankets over the two of them. It seemed he was just as sleepy with sun as Squall, but that didn't stop him from ensuring that their bodies touched in as many places as possible. Squall opened his mouth to complain that it was much too hot for this kind of thing, but Irvine, his face buried in the side of Squall's neck and his fingers tracing lazy circles on Squall's stomach, smelt of salt water and sunblock, and his body seemed to be trying to swallow Squall's up with alarming determination.

"I love summer," Irvine muttered against his neck, and Squall smiled a little at the languid contentment in his voice.

"Hate the beach," he complained, and Irvine's laugh blew warm air over his collarbone, stirring the sheets.

"Nobody hates the beach," Irvine protested.

Squall didn't bother to argue. Even if he hated the beach – unnerving, scuttling crabs and sand in uncomfortable places; beautiful bikini-clad, each one potential competition; seaweed tangled in hair and around ankles, sharp-edged shells cutting feet.

But he loved the end of these days, coming home to soothe his sunburns and crawl into bed with a warm body, and to smell the ocean on Irvine's skin.


End file.
